


You're Not Ready for Freddy

by presidenthomewrecker



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Supernatural
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, Implied Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/presidenthomewrecker/pseuds/presidenthomewrecker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A recent string of deaths leads Sam and Dean to a haunted pizzeria known as Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Just another salt-and-burn, it seems.</p>
<p>They should really know better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Not Ready for Freddy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Firstly, thank you for taking the time to read my work. This is actually my first fanfic, fueled by a sleepless night and FNAF LPs.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

“FRIGGIN’ DICK ANGELS!”

While Gabriel’s boisterous snorts could be heard across the bunker, other residents couldn’t find the will to pay him any mind. In the long months that Gabriel had dropped by to “say hello,” they’d long grown used to his arduous tests in patience.

“Dean, please calm down.” Castiel intoned. His fingers worked deftly, expertly picking out piece after piece of gum from Dean’s short hair.

Dean ignored him, choosing instead to focus on two primary tasks. One was making sure he ignored Gabe joyously recount the last ten minutes to Sam, knowing that if he didn’t, he’d run right after the little fucker and get _another_ chunk of hair ripped out. That being said, the second task at hand was to pull the gum that coated his clothes and skin as quickly as possible so he _could_ chase that dick angel down. Maybe shoot him in the foot. Maybe put another stake through his chest. Dean hadn’t quite decided yet but had a feeling he’d figure something out when he had the trickster’s face securely wedged beneath his boot.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Dean solemnly yanked a particularly large wad of gum from his shirtsleeve, the force creating a resounding snap.

“I think we’ve established how rarely successful that is.” Castiel responded.

“Don’t care. I’m gonna kill him anyway.”

“If you say so, Dean.”

Dean squinted, taking slight offense from the comment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That if this is something you wholeheartedly put your mind to, I’m sure you will accomplish it.”

“Oh.” A slight, proud smile came across Dean’s face, and he finally relaxed, his ego sufficiently stroked. “Well, thanks.”

The loud, clunky footsteps of Sam’s boots echoed down the hall.

“He better not be with you!” Dean warned. Just as a precaution, he grabbed a gun from a nearby table, making a point of being loud as he cocked it.

Without answering, Sammy poked his head around the corner, a smirk on his face. “Wow, I’m surprised he didn’t explode.”

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean snapped, trying to ignore Cas muttering about why he would be exploding and focus on the gum.

Instead of following Dean’s command, Sam chose lean against the doorway, arms folded as he surveyed Gabe’s work. “You know, I hate to encourage him, but this actually is pretty funny.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“And how are you gonna get up?”

Before Dean could even attempt standing, which would inevitably yank out more hair, Cas stopped his meticulous gum removal to place a single hand on Dean’s shoulder, stilling him.

Though Sam’s grin was hardly hidden and the word “Destiel” was practically visible on the tip of his tongue, he didn’t say a word about it. Not that Dean gave him the time to.

“Sammy, that dick angel is either leaving in five minutes or leaving in ten minutes with the sharpest object I can find shoved up his ass.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped, his puppy-dog eyes gaining momentum quickly. “Dean, he has nowhere else to go.”

“So? I can’t handle another day of this.” Dean leaned in, as if it would strongly emphasize his next words. “He put maple syrup in my car.”

“Look, I’ll help you clean out the seats, but –”

“Not the seats. The _engine_ , Sammy. And I don’t know what that does, but when I find out I’m gonna kill him!” Dean’s scowl then twisted into a flinch as Cas yanked out a large piece of gum.

“Alright, listen, I think we all just need some time away from each other.”

“No, I need time away from Gabriel. Forever.”

“He’s not that bad.”

Castiel glanced up from his work, finding it necessary to jump in. “Actually, Sam, if I may interject. You only think such because Gabriel never specifically targets you.”

“That’s not true! Remember the Japanese game show?”

“Wow. You got hit in the jewels once.” Dean grumbled. “I died a hundred times over!”

“And you wouldn’t know that if I hadn’t told you. Look.” Sam held up a hand, trying to stop himself from feeding into Dean’s inherent need to argue about this. “I’m not having this argument anymore. There’s a case a couple towns over. I think it’d be a nice break for all of us.”

Though the idea did sound pretty good, Dean still crossed his arms and pouted. “I’m getting run out of my own bunker. Un-freakin’-believable.”

Sam inwardly sighed. It was going to be a long ride.

 

“This is the place?” Dean asked for the fifth time. “There have been five deaths here?”

“Yeah. This week.” Dean turned to gawk at that tiny little detail that may have been left out. “I’m telling you, this place is a deathtrap!”

“Yeah, sure looks it.” Dean and Sam took a lingering look at the sign, proclaiming in colorful letters “Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza” with mixed emotions. Because on one hand, it was a shitty little diner with overly happy characters and a ridiculously chipper vibe to it. On the other, the amount of deaths was staggering, and while Dean currently hated everyone and everything, Sam realized this could be cause for caution.

The second they entered, the boys found themselves surrounded by a cacophony of shrieking children and awful music. On the sidelines stood a young woman clearly too tired out from her job by the weak, exhausted smile she had upon noticing her two guests. She looked almost pained as she intoned, “Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. A magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. How can I help you today?”

Sam spoke up first. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Special Agent Greer, this is Special Agent Walsh. If we could ask you some –”

“Shh!” Terror overtaking the young woman’s features, she rapidly shook her head, her eyes darting towards the animatronics. “Not here. They listen.”

“Good. For a second, we thought you were crazy.” That comment earned Dean an elbow in his stomach, but it was well worth it.

The woman nodded down a hallway, leading them into a supply closet.

“What was that about them listening?” Sam pressed, trying to keep his voice soothing yet insistent.

The woman’s eyes flashed towards the show stage before she continued. “If we talk out there, they’ll listen, and nothing good happens from that, especially if you make them angry. I could be put on the night shift. I don’t wanna die!” Her shaking fingers gripped Sam’s jacket tightly.

Sam gently pried her hands away. “Ma’am, please calm down. We can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on.”

The woman took a deep breath, summoning up her courage before beginning. “There’s something weird with those animatronics. Ever since all those kids died, they just wanna kill people.”

Now that was new information. “What kids?” Sam asked, his fingers crossed for a lead.

“The ones that died here. Or somewhere else, I don’t know. The story’s really unclear. But a bunch of kids are dead and those animatronics out there want revenge.”

Fighting back laughter, Dean simply raised an eyebrow, his smirk undeniable. “You realize how dumb this sounds, right?”

“Dean!” Sam hissed before turning back to the woman, a reassuring smile effectively painted on. “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll find out what’s causing this and take care of it.”

The woman stared as if the people in front of her were dumb. “I just told you. It’s the animatronics. Those kids got stuffed into suits and now they’re gonna do the same to the rest of us.” Her head suddenly jerked. “I need to go before they get suspicious.” And with that, she was gone.

“So are we gonna consider her a credible witness or a super-credible witness?” Dean quipped.

“She might have a point.”

“Huh?”

 “If those bodies are in those suits, it could create enough energy for a possession.”

“So, what? This is just a regular old salt and burn?”

“Seems like it. Guess we’ll find out tonight.”

 

In the dead of night, the restaurant sat untouched.

Away from the children, away from the staff. Even the lone security guard, slated to bear the brunt of the monsters’ wrath for six hours at a time, was nowhere to be seen.

And as the front door was opened, a single beam of moonlight swam into the dark, dank area. Behind it, Sam and Dean slowly made their way inside. While the bulk of their research undoubtedly pointed to a haunting, they still entered with caution, just in case there had been something they missed.

Dean swung his flashlight, examining random areas of the dining room. “And I thought this place looked bad during the day.”

His back to his brother, Sam rolled his eyes. With his sarcasm now in full swing once more, Dean would only get worse from here on out. Hopefully this case would wrap up quickly, because at this point Sam preferred Gabe, chewing gum explosives and all.

“Hey, Sammy, look.”

As Sam turned around, he was horrified to find Dean pinching the black nose of the Freddy animatronic. “His nose squeaks.”

“Dean, will you stop messing with it? God, I feel like they’re about to come to life any second.”

“Nah, we’re fine. McCrazy said their servos stay off until midnight, and –”

“Dean.”

“– that’s more than enough time to turn these mothers into overdone French fries, don’t you think?”

“Dean! It’s midnight.”

“What?”

“It’s midnight.”

“No, it’s not!” Dean held up his hand, aggressively pointing towards his wrist. “See? My watch says eleven-oh-three!”

“And what about the time change that was last week?”

Dean wasn’t given the time to respond, as a distinct mechanical whir soon filled their ears. What little light there was in the room was soon blocked by Chica’s massive form.

Her head haltingly tilted to the side, her eyes wide and hungry as she eyed the boys placed in front of her.

The silent room was then greeted with Dean’s soft utterance of “Shit.”

Immediately the boys scrambled backwards, putting some space in between them and the enemy as they fired shot after shot into her synthetic fur. However, nothing seemed to have any effect, and each shot only gave the hellish chicken more time to close in on them.

“It’s not working!” Dean cried, sounding more annoyed than worried.

Then, as if responding to the noise, both Freddy and Bonnie broke from their invisible shackles, slowly advancing on the boys.

“Fall back!” Roughly grabbing Dean by his collar, Sam navigated them back towards the security guard’s room, slamming his fists on both buttons to bring down the doors that kept them out.

Panting, Sam fell against the lone chair in the cramped area. And as he desperately fought to maintain his composure, Dean started yelling. “What the hell? We almost had them!”

Sam shot up from his chair. “No, we didn’t! Those . . . things were going to skin us alive!”

“So does every other frickin’ thing we ever me –” Dean cut himself off, the realization dawning on him, much to Sam’s dismay. A wide sneer blossomed on his lips. “Sammy, don’t tell me you’re scared of those things.” With no response, he only pushed further. “Sammy.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I totally get it. Those monsters are terrifying. I mean, next they might sing a song about pizza, and I don’t know how we’ll get through that with our big boy pants intact.”

Sam didn’t respond with words. Instead, he fixed Dean with the bitchiest bitch-face in the history of bitchdom. Seldom used by humans and astronomically powerful, this one stare possessed the strength with which it could destroy a man of Dean’s caliber in a number of microseconds. Unfortunately, Dean himself had an ability lost to the ages and was able to deflect his brother’s optical assault with a mere roll of his eyes.

“Alright, don’t have a bitch fit. If it makes you feel better, I’ll go out by myself.” Dean moved towards the door, ready to face down the satanic trio of singing animals by himself, when a hand grabbed his collar, pulling him back with moose-tier strength.

“Are you crazy?” Sam exclaimed. “What part of ‘skin us alive’ went over your head?”

“Maybe the part where you find these things scary?”

“Dean. Regular bullets didn’t work. _Salt rounds_ didn’t work. What the hell are you gonna do when those things get near you?”

“Break into a mild speed walk and outrun them? They have to have some sort of weakness. Ya just gotta find it.”

“And how are you gonna find it without getting your head torn off?” Right as Dean opened his mouth, Sam continued, “And if you make one more snarky comment, I’m gonna kill you.”

His defensiveness rapidly growing, Dean folded his arms. “Are you trying to say I can’t handle this?”

Knowing his brother and, more importantly, knowing his brother’s fragile ego, Sam was swift in response. “No. What I’m trying to say is that maybe we’re in over our heads with this one.”

The look in Dean’s eyes grew dangerous, hinting at how close they were to a full-fledged rant that most likely involved keywords such as “hunters,” “family business,” “helping people,” and more often than not, “vanilla pudding.”

“Hear me out.” Sam pleaded. “Maybe this isn’t a haunting. It could be a tulpa, or a pagan god, or some witch that really likes pizza. But whatever it is, right now we don’t have the stuff to take these things out.”

“So what? We stayed holed up here all night?”

“It’s the only choice we have.”

Quite reluctantly, Dean leaned against the desk and, in the process of trying to look both suave and tough, getting uncomfortably prodded in his tight, aptly rounded posterior by an unknown object.

He turned, inspecting the object, which turned out to be as far from useful as applicable in this situation. Well, from Dean’s perspective, which was slightly skewed from the prospect of being stuck in a cramped room surrounding by murderous animatronic robot for six hours.

In all actuality, the item he held in his hands was quite valuable. The tablet-like iPad knockoff, while energy-draining when in use, allowed tabs to be kept on all three robots, in addition to showing what little power the building had left to spare.

Dean frowned. “Wow, when Crazy Sauce said this place ran on a double A battery, she wasn’t kidding.”

“What?” In an instant, Sam was up, crossing the room faster than he could get a girlfriend killed. “Thirty-seven percent? How can we survive for six hours with only thirty-seven percent?”

“Hey, calm down. All we have to do open up the doors.”

Again, Sam opted for something other than a verbal response, choosing instead to stare at Dean, his left eye twitching. Silently, he was able to convey to Dean how intensely he thought the person before him had lost their mind.

“So you have a better idea?”

And to that, Sam said nothing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And as long as we stay quiet, we’ll hear them coming. Besides,” Dean reached into his back pocket. “I brought cards.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I always bring cards with me.”

“Then how come I’ve never seen them?”

“Because we’ve never needed ’em. Now sit down and prepare to have your ass beaten.”

Approximately twenty minutes later, because that’s when something that mattered happened, Dean smirked. “Hey, Sam. Guess what I have in my hand right now?” he said, gesturing towards his cards.

“I don’t know, Dean. What?” Sam had a pretty good feeling that this was a setup for an overused and likely immature joke, but since they both had nothing better to do, he might as well bite.

“I’ll give you a hint: It’s something you’re not.”

And at that, Sam glared, channeling the power of thirty, maybe forty, annoyed housewives into his eyeballs. “Do you really have to make that joke every –” At the sound of three distinct thumps, Sam’s body went rigid, the cards falling from his hand. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah. You might wanna check the lights.” Dean’s reply was absent, his attention diverted towards Sam’s discarded hand.

So, with a shaking hand, Sam pressed two sasquatch fingers against the lower button.

The illumination was instantaneous, filling the blackened area with light, which only made it all the more startling when Sam came face to face with Chica’s blank, derpy eyes and plaster teeth that she shouldn’t really have because she’s a chicken and chicken don’t have teeth. What a poor design choice, especially for an animatronic that’s so murderous.

Anyway, at this, Sam let out a not-so-manly yelp, finding himself paralyzed with fear and unable to do a task so simple as to press a second button.

Dean, far from impressed, jammed his thumb against the button, effectively closing the door.

“Really?” Dean raised a single eyebrow.

Sam’s shoulders defensively hunched. “What? It startled me.”

“It shouldn’t.” When Sam opened his mouth to protest, Dean swiftly cut him off. “Sam, it’s a chicken, a bear, and a bunny.”

“And a fox.”

“What?”

“A fox.” Finally did Dean realize Sam was looking above him, his eyes focused on an object at least a head taller than either of them. That, paired with the grave hand Sam was using to point in the same general area that his eyes refused to move from, hinted at something being behind him.

He spun, finding himself staring down a pirate fox-thing that looked about as torn up as something or someone that’s both clever and funny to reference. No, I’m not going to bother with going back and adding something genuinely amusing here. Get over it.

Anyway, Dean’s eyes darted to the door button, only to realize a beat later that the fox was already in the room with them. How it was able to sneak in without him hearing something or Sam – the total paranoid he currently was – seeing something was beyond him, but he had a lot more to worry about than minor nitpicks.

So, pulling out his gun, he shot the thing in its chest, hopefully where, from what he could see through the holes in its weathered costume, the HQ of that faulty endoskeleton was.

Nothing major happened, no explosions, no ghosts or other various supernatural entities that weren’t technically ghosts but seemed a hell of a lot like ghosts, almost exactly in fact, went flying out of its carcass and bursting into nothingness. But the monster was stunned for half a moment, giving Dean the time to slip past it and bolt down the hallway.

“Come get me, you son of a bitch!” he screamed, firing another shot in its general direction to keep its attention.

With an otherworldly screech, the fox took chase, and Dean, almost immediately flanked by the other three animatronics, who suddenly seemed ungodly fast, had nowhere else to run as it tackled him to the ground, its hook sinking into the bare flesh of his forearm.

By the time Sam was able to risk a peek out of the office, Foxy was already dragging Dean into the back room. Seeing his brother in danger already had Sam pulling out his gun and aiming, but before a single shot was fired, Dean’s nearly frantic voice filled his ears.

“Sammy, don’t! Close the doors!” Further exclamations were cut off by the door to the back room being closed, allowing Sam to hear nothing but Dean’s muffled, unintelligible screams.

Sam stood there, frozen in shock, as the remaining three proceeded towards him. It was only their stilted, prerecorded laughter that reminded him of the danger and forced him within the confines of the office, both doors tightly shut.

Immediately, he flung himself towards the tablet, switching from camera to camera and praying to God that “stuffing you into a suit” consisted of something a lot less grave than the hostess had made it sound.

It didn’t.

Cam 5 was the one for the back room and, had Sam been even a smidge more frantic, he would’ve skipped right past it. Only the sight of Foxy, still in the room, kept him from doing so, though he almost wished it hadn’t.

It wasn’t hard to tell where Dean was. The room was full of empty heads and an endoskeleton, but had only one full suit. Even through the static, Sam could clearly see the blood that was coating its fur and could swear he saw fingertips poking out around the neck that appeared to be forcefully jammed in.

Suddenly, the silence, the lack of screams of resistance, began to roar in his ears. And soon after, something inside of him shattered, something that wasn’t all too sturdy to begin with.

The tablet slipped out of his hands, landing with a thud at his feet.

Sam barely noticed.

“Oh, Sam. You aren’t looking too good,” a voice piped up from behind him.

Sam shuddered at that all too familiar timbre. On instinct, he tightened his fists around the desk, muttering under his breath, “You’re not real.”

“No,” Lucifer agreed, pushing off the wall with his foot and wheeling beside Sam. “But that is.” He nodded towards the image of the back room, still grimly displaying from the floor. “That’s all real, and that’s all your fault.”

“I thought I got rid of you.” Sam growled.

“Eh.” Lucifer shrugged. “But if you can’t tell, your mind’s a little broke-y right now. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if your mom and Jess popped in for a shot at you. Frankly, it’s expected. You know, stress, guilt, killer singing animals, watching your brother get dragged off to his death. But, what is this? The fifth time?” He dismissively waved his hand. “You’ll get over it. But maybe you won’t. It’s only three a.m. You’ve barely got the power to make it five minutes with both of these doors down. It makes me wonder, what happens when both of you are dead? You can’t sacrifice your lives for one another then, and I doubt Cassie has the bargaining chips and I _know_ Gabby doesn’t have the balls. He’ll probably just run off again. As per usual.”

“Well, maybe you’d think better of them if you weren’t such a selfish, conceited brat.”

Lucifer whistled. “Touch-y. But, speaking of my family, why is it that you haven’t called for Castiel yet? Is it because you already know he won’t come? You’re not Dean, so why would he care, right? Or is it that you _know_ if he gets you out of here, he’ll kill you instead? After all, you let his precious human get mangled beyond recognition.”

Sam could feel himself losing what little sanity he had left, all because of what a hallucination was telling him. It wouldn’t hit so hard if it wasn’t all true, but what was worse was that all his fears and insecurities being parroted back at him. And the douchebag just kept going.

“So tell me, Sam. What’s up with these bots that’s got you from fighting back? You’ve faced down bigger things. Scarier things. Much better-looking things. But enough about me.” He chuckled at his own joke, only to receive a gnawing silence for his efforts. “Come on. You can tell me. It’s just us girls. Besties, right?”

“No.”

“Ouch. That hurts almost as much as being forcefully stuffed into a suit. But not really.” Another bout of silence. Another prompt without a response. Lucifer’s hand crashed against the table. Sam jumped, turning his attention on Lucifer as the force of the blow echoed. “Sam.”

Lucifer’s imaginary hand traced down Sam’s arm, causing him to shudder. His fingers clenched over the area, all with him muttering that the person tormenting him wasn’t really there.

“You know the great thing about being in your head? It’s that I don’t even have to take a guess. I just know. So how long have you been seeing these things, huh? Weeks? Months? The way they flash in and disappear can be quite disorienting, with their dead, bloodshot eyes. And those whispers . . . ‘It’s me.’ Chilling.”

Sam shut his eyes, knuckles turning white against the desk. Try as he might, he couldn’t block this voice, this irritating, snide little whine that threatened to make his ears bleed. And as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t lash out; any punch he threw would have no effect. Helpless, all he could do was stand there and listen to someone push him further off the edge than he already was.

Lucifer’s expression twisted into one of condescending sympathy. “And you haven’t even told anyone. Too scared it’ll be like me all over again? That no one will trust you? Poor Sammy. Poor, stupid Sammy. You think you can hide it. Hide me. Please. Everyone knows you’re two tons of crazy in a five-pound bag.” He sighed, stretching out his neck. “But I guess that doesn’t matter now because you’re good as dead.”

“Huh?” Sam spun, suddenly noticing the tablet at his feet read only one percent.

“Three . . . two . . . one.” Lucifer counted down on his fingers, his smirk wide.

And, right on cue, the entire facility powered down. The dim lights vanished, coating the area in an ominous shadow.

Sam stood absolutely still, his eyes darting from door to door. From which direction would his demise come? He wasn’t exactly enthused about finding out.

Soon the silence was replaced with the sound of thumping footsteps, heavy and deliberate. However, they had no real direction. They moved about in an aimless pattern, like they didn’t know where he was.

“Hey!” Lucifer cried from over his shoulder. “He’s over here!”

Sam winced, especially when a light sparked in the west hallway.

The gentle tones of _Toreador March_ trickled into the office, Freddy’s face illuminating in tandem with the beats. Sam could feel his body involuntarily tensing, his muscles coiling in anticipation for rapidly approaching death. He had no idea of the form or method, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be pretty.

Suddenly the music cut out, leaving Sam stranded in the dark once more. Again, he could hear the strong, steady thump of footsteps meandering about the halls. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it was only a moment away from six a.m.

“Cover your eyes! They’ll never find you then!” Lucifer hollered.

But soon, his cruel words faded into the background and a loud, distinct took their place at the forefront of Sam’s mind. A loud, telling stomp right in front of him resounded.

So this was it.

This was the end.

Right as he was sending mental apologies to Dean and Bobby and Kevin and pretty much every girlfriend he’d ever had ever, a finger poked against his cheek. “Gotcha.”

Sam’s eyes flew open. “Gabriel?” He couldn’t believe the sight before him. So casually, Gabe hovered there, his body half-hanging out of a Freddy Fazbear suit.

The Trickster smirked. “What’s up, kiddo?”

Sam stuttered nonsense, having trouble getting his mind working. He peeked around the Freddy Fazbear suit, finding no trace of Lucifer or any other hallucinations seated at the lone desk, which only added to his shock. In the end, the only thing he could properly articulate was, “What the fuck just happened?”

“Well, Sammich, what you just witnessed was a masterpiece in its own right. I’ve been setting this up for weeks, just so I could see that dumb Winchester look on your face.”

Sam glared.

“Yeah, that one!”

Past his anger, Sam had a sudden realization. “Wait, so Dean’s not dead?” Tiny bubbles of hope began spinning in his stomach.

“Of course he’s not dead. Takes a lot more than a couple of animatronics to kill that cockroach. Believe me, I know.”

And while hearing that made Sam’s chest ache with relief as the tension shook out of his body, that happiness was quickly replaced with anger once more as he remembered he’d been duped. “So what was this? Some big joke? Is this how you’re getting your laughs now?”

“No . . . A little . . . There’s a lesson.”

“What kind of lesson could possibly justify – what – months –”

“Four months.”

“— Four months of planning, nearly killing Dean, and scaring me half to death?”

“I’m not gonna just spoon-feed you the moral, kiddo. And besides, you couldn’t have been that scared. They weren’t clowns. You know why? ’Cause I’m looking out for _you_ , Sammer Bananer.”

Gabriel didn’t have the good sense to notice the way that Sam’s eyes narrowed, or the way his jaw clenched, or really any other warning sign that clearly stated he was about to get punched.

Approximately twenty-two point five seconds later, sporting a fabulous black eye, Gabriel chased after Sam as he stormed his gigantor ass out of the imaginary restaurant.

“Come on, Sam-Bam! Don’t be like this!”

And suddenly Sam spun, all rage and aggression. “Don’t be like what? Don’t be genuinely angry about this because we all have to be your playthings? I don’t remember letting you stay just so you could fuck with us!”

“Sam –”

“Do you not realize that you’ve been torturing me for _months_ for you to get your cheap laugh? That these hallucinations you’ve been giving me might actually do something? That I might –” Sam stopped, just short of admitting out loud the thing he was fighting to keep secret.

“Might what?” Gabe moved closer, somehow able to stay a respectable distance away while suffocating Sam at the same time. “Sam . . .” Gabriel extended his hands, his hand resting lightly on Sam’s shoulder.

Much to his and Sam’s shock, Sam actually turned to face him.

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s it. Hell was freezing over. Lucifer and Michael and also Adam even though no one cares about him were all making snowmen, and Crowley was singing his orchestral-jazz arrangement of “Let It Go” with tastefully timed choreography.

The final nail in the coffin of his sanity could only be if Lucifer popped back up to lecture him about Hell actually being quite cold, and if that happened one more time today, Sam swore, at least one innocent bystander was getting punched.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. It was only supposed to be a joke.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that? Yeah fucking right! You act like it’s your God-given duty to make out lives Hell and suddenly you’re _sorry_?”

Gabe lowered his head. “You know I don’t say things I don’t mean.” Almost hesitantly, Gabe once again reached forward, his fingertips ghosting over Sam’s shoulder. “I heard you talking in there. To Lucy. That’s when I could tell I went too far, but I thought that maybe if I brushed it off, you would too. That way I wouldn’t have to do this apologizing crap.”

“Because you fucking suck at it?”

Gabriel grinned, despite his chagrin. “A little. Point is, I’m sorry, and I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Fuck. Fuck this douchebag Trickster and fuck how genuinely remorseful he looked. And most of all, fuck how _badly_ Sam wanted to forgive him. Unfortunately, he was too furious to care.

“Well, you did a shitty job.”

“I know. But what else am I supposed to do? You’re always researching or saving people like a dumb hero or hanging out with Cas or Dean.”

Did he just really imply what Sam thought he did? Was Sam hearing that right?

In acknowledgement of Sam’s wide eyes and hanging-open trap, Gabriel continued. “I don’t stick around because I love spending time with your dick brother, alright? And the only time you can even bother is when I’m wreaking some kind of havoc.”

No. No, no, no. There was no way that Gabriel was admitting to this. It had to be some sort of prank-in-a-prank that Sam was falling all too easily for.

But . . . did he really just . . . want Sam’s attention?

As time waned on, Gabriel found himself feeling less and less sarcastic. Instinctively, his shoulders began sagging, his resolve breaking. Sam wasn’t going to forgive him.

“You know, you could just ask. Like a normal person.”

Gabe scrambled to cover up the fact he was elated. Though his relieved smile still showed, he was able to restrain himself from jumping. “And you could take that dumb caveman frown off your face,” he shot back. “Ice cream works pretty well.”

Sam felt his face breaking out in a grin. “Sure, Gabe. Let’s go.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Well, you have to do something to make it up to me.”

“Yeah.” Suddenly two hands were at his cheeks, pulling him down into a passionate kiss. Like, super passionate. So passionate, in fact, that, if I had the motivation, I could write an entire story centering solely on the fire that this kiss ignited with Sam’s loins. And I bet Gabe had a wingboner, too. Not that anyone could see it, thankfully, but I’m sure that if the lighting was right, those wings would be making some weird-ass shadows.

Gabe raised an eyebrow, as if asking if that was enough.

“Nice try.” Sam smirked, putting an arm around his companion before stopping dead in his tracks. “Wait,” he muttered, his brow crinkling. “I’m forgetting something.”

“No, you’re not. Let’s go.” Gabriel hooked his arm through Sam’s, leading him with the dominance of both an archangel and a short person.

Sam could only grin.

 

Meanwhile, back in the rapidly decaying illusion of Freddy Fazbear’s pizza, wherein Sam definitely did forget something, muffled cries and punches resounded from within the sole remaining suit.

“Sam? Sam!” Dean called, his voice stuck on the same loop for an hour.

“Dean?”

Dean froze. He knew that voice. “Cas?”

Cas squinted at the human-sized object before him. “Dean, why are you a smiling bear?”

“Never mind. Just get me out of here!”

Castiel reached forward, moving to pull off the bear head, but stopped at the last second. “Will it . . . hurt you if I remove this head?”

“For the love of God, Cas!”

Taking that as a no, Cas yanked off the head to find Dean’s very annoyed face staring back at him.

Cas blinked, his brain finally beginning to make an (incorrect) assumption. “Is this one of the activities you mentioned regarding your sultry affairs?”

Dean turned red. “What? No!” His frown deepened into a scowl. “I know Gabe had something to do with this!”

“If you say so, Dean.”

“I’m gonna kill him! I mean it! I’m going to drive a fucking knife into his dumb little smug face!”

“Of course you will, Dean.”

“Damn right I will!”

And so on, and so forth.


End file.
